


grey thinking

by irrelevant



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Gen, Will of D, Wishful Thinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-01
Updated: 2011-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:05:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286327
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrelevant/pseuds/irrelevant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>wishful thinking AU, also known as the one where Rouge doesn't die.</p>
            </blockquote>





	grey thinking

**Author's Note:**

> there may be more to this universe. well, there is more the only question is whether or not it'll get written.

The walk from their house into town is short, maybe a mile. With Mom’s hand resting on the back of his neck it feels like ten miles.

She doesn’t push or hold tight. She doesn’t squeeze. Her hand is just there; she laid it there as they left, saying, “I know you’ll do the right thing.” And then she never took it away.

It’s still there, getting heavier with every step he takes and her _knowing_ is the heaviest thing of all. But he keeps walking even though his feet feel even heavier than her hand, even though her thumb keeps moving, rubbing slightly scratchy lines up and down his skin while up ahead Fūsha keeps getting closer. Close enough now to see the rooftops beneath the windmills, and not nearly far enough away for him, it looks like a cloud of lightning bugs, bursts of yellow light hazy behind oil paper and glass.

Ace wishes it really was a cloud of lightning bugs. He wishes they _did_ have ten more miles to walk, but they just passed old man Bloosh’s gate. One more and they’ll be in the village, and Ace doesn’t mean to drag his feet but he’s doing it anyway, scuffing small dirt showers out in front of him. Scowling at the ground until Mom laughs, startling him.

He looks up and she’s smiling at him. “You look like you’re on your way to your own funeral,” she says. “It’s not as bad as that, Ace.”

Maybe it’s the sun, falling into the ocean in a burst of red and orange and pink and making her too bright, but her smile hurts to look at; Ace looks away. “I don’t get why I have to,” he tells the ground, hating the whine even he can hear.

Finally her hand slips down, but it just settles on his shoulder, as heavy there as it was on his neck.

“You have to because when you destroy someone’s property and disturb their place of business it’s only right to apologize and offer reparation,” she says. And she sounds like she always does except for how she doesn’t. Her voice doesn’t change, but whatever’s behind it is different in terrifying ways; even Gramps is scared of her when she’s like this.

Ace isn’t scared, not really, just… he kind of is. Scared of disappointing her, which is worse than being scared of her—and _so_ much worse than apologizing in public.

Shoving his hands into his pockets, he bends forward a little more under the weight of her hand. “I’m not saying sorry to those guys,” he mumbles. “I’m _not_.”

“No.” She says it on a sigh, but he can hear the laughter underneath. “I don’t expect you to. Just to Makino.”

Which is scary in its own way because Makino can be as scary as Mom when she wants to be. It’s still better than failing.

“I can do that,” he says, determined, and she laughs again.

“Are you sorry?”

“I’m…” he thinks about it. “I am sorry,” he says slowly. “Not for kicking those guys’ faces in. But I’m sorry I smashed up her stuff doing it.” He darts a look at her face and she’s still smiling, just softer. Not bright enough to hurt anymore.

“Pick up your chin, then,” she says. “If you’re not ashamed, don’t let anyone think you are.”

And he does. Lifts his head and his feet and walks into the village with Mom’s hand on his shoulder and her skirt swishing out against his leg and the right kind of sorry in his chest.

It lasts right up until the open doors of Partys Bar are just across the street and he can see how one door is hanging by its hinges (the second guy). The front window is cracked (chair, third guy threw it at him and he kicked it and it went flying) and inside… Ace looks back down at the ground.

Mom’s hands cup one of his fists. She lifts it, uncurls his fingers with her own, and then she lets it, lets him go. “Come on,” she says and she starts walking again and he _has_ to go with her.

People stop talking as soon as they step into the room. Ace can feel them staring at him. At them. And he wants to yell at them, tell them to stop staring at Mom, but her hand is back on his shoulder and there’s something stuck in his throat and Makino is right there behind the bar. Smiling at both of them.

She says, “Hello, Rouge. It’s good to see you.”

“And you. I should come in more often,” Mom replies. The hand on Ace’s shoulder squeezes lightly. “Ace has something to say, if you don’t mind listening.”

“Of course not,” Makino says and looks at him, the weight of her gaze and her smile pushing Ace’s heart down into his stomach, like Mom’s hand, still on his shoulder. And he thinks together they’re going to push him down through the floor into the ground, and he almost thinks that would be better than this. Better than standing here trying to push something out of his mouth that doesn’t want to come out.

“I.” He swallows and looks at her, just her, and he tries not to hear anything but his heartbeat, pounding in his ears. “I’m sorry for breaking your bar,” he tells her. “I haven’t got much money but you can have it. And I’ll—I’ll help fix stuff.”

There’s something else, something—he can’t remember. But Makino is still smiling at him, head tilted to one side, and his chest is too tight and he—he can’t _remember_ …

Mom’s thumb brushes his skin, back and forth over the back of his neck. His throat stops feeling like there’s something stuck in it, but not for long. It’s okay until he remembers everything, and then it’s sticking again. Because it was Mom’s suggestion, and he doesn’t like it much, but Makino probably will.

“I could… do chores for you?”

He doesn’t see what’s so funny about it, but there must be something because Makino’s laughing. “Ace,” she says, and her smile starts to tip… “That would be very helpful,” but she pauses like she’s not sure. “I suppose—”

“If it helps, he does know how to sweep dirt off floors instead of onto them, and clean dishes without breaking them,” Mom says, her voice full of laughter.

“Luffy,” Makino sighs. “I haven’t had a broken plate in a month. It’s a silly thing to miss, isn’t it?” Shaking her head, she glances at Ace. “But you’re probably thirsty and here I’m going on. Sit down and I’ll get you—” she cocks her head, waiting.

“Just water for both of us, thank you,” Mom says. She gives Ace a little push and he scrambles up onto a stool. “I didn’t bring any money with me.”

Makino makes a huffy noise and gives Mom a _look_. The same kind of look Mom gives Ace when she thinks he’s being a dork.

“Don’t be silly,” Makino says as she pulls two different kinds of glasses out of the rack. She sets them down on the bar, one in front of Ace, the other in front of Mom, then she leans down, doing something Ace can’t see. “I have hibiscus-raspberry and star fruit juice,” she says. “Which one would you like, Ace?”

Ace kneels up on his stool and peers over the edge of the bar. Makino is bent down in front of a small fridge, holding two bottles of murky-looking juice. They both sound kind of weird, but he’s not picky about food. “Um, whichever’s open?”

“All right.” She puts one of the bottles back and takes out another one that’s full of clear liquid and stands, and Ace slides back down onto his stool.

“You still like pear best, right?” Makino says and Mom nods. She’s sitting on the stool next to Ace’s. Elbows on the bar, chin resting on her cupped hands.

“It’s bad manners to put your elbows on the table,” Ace says, and get his nose flicked, but he also gets the laugh he wants from both of them, so he’s okay.

Makino pours out juice so dark red it looks purple and slides the glass over to him. “What do you say?” Mom says as he picks it up.

“Thanks.” Then, “It’s good,” after he tastes it. He eyes the clear stuff Makino is pouring into the other glass. It’s fizzy, bubbles rising in long strands to the top and foaming; it doesn’t look like beer or any other grownup drink he’s ever seen, but Mom takes it and sips, closing her eyes and smiling a little.

“I haven’t had this in ages.”

“Not since the last time Dadan _borrowed_ some from that nobleman,” Makino says, grinning, and then they both laugh like the girls who hang out together around the fountain in the square.

“How is she?” Mom asks. “I send her grapes and peaches when they’re in season, but I haven’t been able to get up there as often as I’d like.”

“Yeah,” Ace mutters into his juice. “She sends me instead.” More laughter and Ace looks up indignantly— “It’s wrong! You said there should be laws against child… child labor.”

Mom reaches over and ruffles his hair. “Sending you up the mountain every month with a bag of fruit for Dadan isn’t child labor, my dearest son. It’s good exercise and it builds character.”

He ducks out from under her hand, crossing his arms on the bar and resting his chin on them. “I bet Makino doesn’t make Luffy do that.”

“Of course I don’t,” she laughs. “He’s only six. He’d probably get… lost.” There’s something weird in her voice, weird enough that Ace stops counting the layers of dark red and purple in his juice. He sits up and looks at her.

“Is he coming home this month?” Mom asks, and Makino looks… sad? Worried? Ace doesn’t know, but he’s listening really hard. Luffy is a pain in the ass but he’s interesting to watch from a distance. And he’s been gone for weeks and weeks and it’s really weird when he’s not around to _be_ an interesting pain in the ass from any distance.

And Ace is still listening and Mom is still waiting but Makino isn’t answering. She’s pulling a rag off a hook and wiping down the bar, smiling like a frown and watching her hands move instead of looking at Ace and Mom.

“That’s up to Garp-san,” she says as she works, and Ace bites the inside of his cheek, shutting himself up. He knows better than to interrupt, and also, he’s pretty sure it would be rude to ask why Gramps gets to say when Luffy is coming home instead of Luffy’s mom.

He remembers, Gramps had wanted him to go, too, but Mom had said, “No.” Just no, that was all. And Gramps hadn’t said anything else about it. Ace wonders why Makino didn’t do that if she didn’t want Luffy to go.

“Makino,” Mom says. Her voice is really soft. “I mean no disrespect, but… I can speak to him. If you think it might help. If that’s unacceptable, of course please ignore my presumption.”

Makino’s hands are still. Her head is still bowed. “I—thank you. It’s not presumptuous at all, Rouge, you know that. But—” she raises her head and her eyes are sad even though her mouth is smiling. “It’s not my place to interfere.”

Mom says, “Whatever you feel is best,” but she doesn’t _look_ like that’s what she’s thinking. Her mouth looks all tight and straight and the corners of her eyes are scrunched up like folded fans. He’s glad Mom doesn’t look like that very often, and almost never at him.

He’s also glad she never looks like that for very long; already the lines are going away and her mouth doesn’t look so—so ready to bite somebody. It curves up, not really happy but not unhappy either, and she says, “So what’s this I hear about a pirate ship being sighted off Pua-Pua?”

Makino looks at Mom for a moment. Then her mouth starts to curl up, too, for real. “Beffa says it was a three-master with a dragon’s head bowsprit.”

She tucks a strand of hair back into her head scarf and moves over to the sink, rinsing out the towel. “He claims it was flying a jolly roger, but—” she smiles at Mom over her shoulder, “he’s always three parts drunk out of four, so who knows about any of it. I’m surprised he managed to get his catch in, he almost staggered off the boat.”

“Oh yes,” Mom agrees. “The only surprise is that he brings in as much fish as he does.”

They both laugh and then a guy Ace doesn’t recognize comes up and bangs two mugs down on the bar. He says, “Oi, can I get a refill?”

Makino takes the mugs with a smile and an, “Of course,” and the guy leans against the bar while she fills them.

He’s leaning so he’s facing them; he wants to talk to Mom, Ace knows. He keeps looking at her, looking away; clearing his throat like he wants to say something. The next time he looks at her, Ace turns his head and glares back.

“Here you are,” Makino says, sliding the mugs back across the bar. The guy takes them and takes off without looking back.

Mom murmurs, “So fierce,” and he feels her hand brush the back of his neck, but it’s a good feeling this time and he grins to himself.

“Woop Slap isn’t here tonight,” Mom says to Makino. “Is everything all right?”

“His daughter is visiting, so he left early.” She giggles. “He wasn’t very happy about it, but Anat said he had to—what else could he do?”

“Nothing, if he’s as smart as he likes to pretend he is,” Mom says dryly, and Makino hangs up her towel and rests _her_ elbows on the bar and starts telling Mom everything that’s been happening in town. Mom sips her fizzy pear stuff and listens. Neither one of them mentions Gramps or Luffy again.

Ace drinks his juice and doesn’t listen to what the people behind him are saying. He listens to Mom and Makino and he doesn’t interrupt.

He doesn’t mind. He’s better at listening than he is talking, and anyway, his mouth is already busy. It’s really good juice.

\--

The moon is out and full when they leave. It’s making a bright puddle of light on the sidewalk just outside the open doors—Ace can see it when he slides down off his stool.

Makino walks them out and walking back through the bar isn’t half as bad as walking in was; nobody even glances at them or stops talking; Ace thinks that’s probably more because of Makino than anything else, but whatever.

At the doorway she hands him a flashlight and says, “It’s a spare. You can bring it back whenever you have time.”

Mom says, “He’ll bring it tomorrow. What time would you like him?”

Makino gives Ace an uncertain smile. “Are you sure? I know—”

Mom pokes him in the side and Ace blurts, “I’m sure!” and Makino laughs and hugs him. And after he’s squirmed away and is standing outside the doorway with Mom safely between them, she hugs Mom.

“Come in again soon,” she says as she lets go. “It’s always good to see you. Even when Ace hasn’t been breaking things.” She laughs a little then, but she sounds like she really means it. Ace can tell; it’s easy to tell when someone doesn’t mean what they say; Mom taught him how to figure it out by watching their faces, and Makino looks like she misses Mom a lot.

Mom looks like she feels the same as Makino. Her smile is kind of hurty again, and she leans in and kisses Makino’s cheek. “It goes both ways,” she says softly. “Ace will come after lunch. Walk back with him and I’ll make an early dinner.”

Makino bites her lip and for a horrible second Ace is sure she’s gonna cry, or something equally sucky. But she doesn’t, she just smiles again and says, “All right.”

Mom steps through the broken doors, running her finger along one splintered edge. “Damn Garp,” she says under her breath; she glances at Ace and he tries to look like he didn’t hear anything.

Mom looks back at Makino. “I’ll send a note to Dadan tomorrow,” she says. “Magra is good with this sort of thing.” She taps the door. “Don’t say no, it’s better to tell her than to let her find out.” She grins and Makino sighs.

“I know. It’s just—”

“ _I_ know,” Mom says firmly. “Believe me.” She reaches up, brushing her fingertips over Makino’s cheek, and then Ace gets a hold on her other wrist and tugs her determinedly down the street. “Tomorrow,” she calls over her shoulder.

Ace looks back. Makino is in the doorway, waving. He waves back once with his free hand and tugs on Mom’s wrist again.

“Are we running a race?” Mom asks. The laughter is back in her voice. She turns her wrist in Ace’s grip, curls their fingers together and Ace’s, “Uh-uh,” comes out sounding more like, “Ungh!”

He wriggles his fingers free, giving her a hurt look, and she laughs at him and tugs him into a half hug, letting go almost as soon as she pulls him in.

“You’re growing up so fast on me, kiddo,” she says, and there’s something in her voice that he doesn’t have a word for. It sounds… kind of sad, but not. “Soon you’ll be wanting a skiff for your birthday instead of a new bo.”

“Maybe both?” he hedges, not wanting to cut down his choices before he’s made them, and Mom is shaking her head.

“Maybe,” she says as they pass the first windmill, leaving the town behind in its circle of yellow light.

Ace switches on the flashlight. He holds it up, swinging the beam out in front of them in circles and half circles while he leans in enough to feel Mom warm and close next to him.

He’s nine and nine is too old to hold anyone’s hand, but he likes walking close to Mom. Close enough that her hand brushes against his arm and her skirt flares out against his leg as they walk. It makes something in his stomach settle. Makes him feel like it’s okay to be a kid with a mom and no dad and a granddad who only comes around once in a while.

Thinking about Gramps makes him think about Luffy—makes him wonder why they’re both Gramps’ grandkids when they’re not even related, and it also reminds him of something that was bothering him earlier.

“How come Gramps gets to say when Luffy comes home?” He looks up from under his lashes as he asks and yep, Mom’s mouth is tightening again.

“He’s Luffy’s grandfather,” she says.

“Yeah,” Ace says, “but… isn’t Makino Luffy’s mom?”

“Say yes, not yeah.” She gets in a hair ruffle before he can duck. “And yes, Makino is Luffy’s mother in all the ways that count.”

“Then why does Gramps get to say what happens to Luffy?”

There’s a sound that’s part of a laugh and part of a sigh and suddenly she stops walking. He walks a few steps ahead before he stops too, turning around, holding the light pointed down so it won’t get in her eyes.

“Come on,” she says, walking over to the two-rail fence as she says it. And she’s hiking her long skirt up, tucking the hem into her sash; she’s putting her foot on the lowest rail and looking back at him. “It’s a pretty night. Let’s go find a dry patch of grass to sit on by the pond.”

Ace follows slowly, glancing over his shoulder at the house on the hill. “But that’s Miss Pepper’s land. She’s got a shotgun and she always runs me off, even when I ask first.”

“Miss Pepper,” Mom says, “is sound asleep and snoring, if I know her—and I do. Besides, it does her good to be thwarted once in a while.” She grins down at him, balanced on the rail, one hand on the nearest post. “Chicken?”

Ace sets his jaw. He turns off the flashlight and tucks the handle as far into his back pocket as it’ll go. “I’m not—” he’s running at the fence, the wood scrapes his hands, the rail jerks under his foot and then he’s in the air, over the top rail, he’s falling—

Landing on his butt in the grass, gasping a little because his tailbone really smarts because he also kind of landed on the flashlight. But he’s on his feet when Mom hops down and walks over to him, and he crosses his arms and frowns up at her.

“Not chicken,” he says, and wow, he wishes she’d always laugh just like that.

“Of course you’re not,” she says, bending down. When she straightens, her sandals are dangling from her hand. “You’re my son. Last one there’s a rotten egg.”

And she’s running, laughter tumbling after, chasing her like he’s chasing her across Miss Pepper’s untended field into the woods.

Summer dry, uncut grass swishes around him, waist high; it scratches his arms and legs and crackles under their pounding feet. The air smells like clover and the faded heat of the day and the poppies that grow wild everywhere. It tastes like dandelion butter in his mouth and can hear his own panting breath and the sounds he’s trying not to make and Mom’s laughter, breathless and low and it sounds—

“Hurry up, slow poke,” she calls, and he grits his teeth and runs faster and they burst together through the tree line into the clearing, stumbling into each other and laughing in short, gasping bursts.

“Oof,” Mom gasps, catching him by the shoulders and steadying him. “I think I need to start walking up to Dadan’s _more_ than once a month.”

“Told you,” Ace pants, and they’re grinning at each other, her arm around his shoulders, his hand grabbing on to her skirt. They’re walking the few steps to the tree closest to the bank and plopping down side by side. Ace immediately sits up and pulls the flashlight out of his pocket, then he sits back down across from Mom and they both lean back on their hands, looking up at the sky.

“It is beautiful here,” Mom says, but even though her head is tilted back her eyes are closed. She pulls the flower she tucked behind her ear before they left out of her hair and holds it up to her nose, breathing in. “Not the same way Baterilla is, but I’ve come to love it almost as much.”

She opens her eyes and looks at Ace, and her face is soft blue in the white light from the moon. Ace thinks she’s what’s beautiful.

“You want to know about Garp and Luffy,” she says. “I suppose if you’re old enough to beat up men three times your age—” he huffs and her mouth twitches— “If you’re old enough for adult actions and consequences,” she continues, “you’re old enough to know that.”

Ace straightens, pulling his knees in to his chest. He wraps his arms around his legs and stares at her. He didn’t think she was actually going to say anything; she never talks about this stuff, older people stuff, not even when he asks.

She’s talking about it now, though. She’s looking at him, looking serious, and saying, “I don’t know who Luffy’s biological mother was, but his father is a very important man—a man wanted by the world government.”

“What’s… biological?” Ace asks, and also, because now he _really_ wants to know, “What’d his dad do?”

“Biological means she gave birth to him. Dragon—” she pauses. “Years ago, Dragon started a war that won’t end until the world government is gone and every nation is free.”

He’s heard that name before. He’s heard the words that go with it, too, and even if he’s not sure what words like revolutionary and insurgent and anarchist mean, he knows what people’s voices sound like when they say them—the same as they sound when they say Dragon’s name.

Mom’s voice doesn’t sound like that at all, though. “You like him,” he says.

“I do,” she agrees. “And I respect him.” Her smile twists to one side, “It would be strange if I didn’t at least respect my leader, don’t you think?”

Ace blinks. He doesn’t really get it but Mom probably knows that. She always knows everything—everything about him, anyway.

“Your mother is an outlaw,” she explains. “Although,” she adds thoughtfully, “since they didn’t know about me, I never did have a bounty. Oh well,” she shrugs, “I hope you won’t hold it against me.”

Ace looks at his mother, at her soft hair and her long blue dress and her gentle smile. “No way,” he says.

“Yes, way.” She sits up, clasping her arms around her legs, mirroring him. “But that was before you came along. Afterward…”

“After?” he says when she doesn’t finish.

She rests her cheek on her knees, looking at him sideways. “There was you,” she says. “You came first—you’ll always come first.”

She smiles when she says it, and her eyes are clear even though it’s night, and Ace knows it’s the truth; he’s always known. It still feels weird and scary and kind of awesome, all those things at the same time, to hear it.

It reminds him of why they’re here right now, why she’s telling him this stuff. Reminds him of the question she hasn’t answered. And there are a bunch of other things he wants to ask—about Dragon, about her, about what it was like for her before Ace happened, but those things feel really far away. They don’t feel as important as Luffy and Makino and Gramps; not as important as knowing why things are the way they are _now_ , not then.

So he says, “I guess… Makino isn’t Luffy’s real mom, then. Is that why Gramps—” he starts to say, but he doesn’t finish because Mom is sitting up and frowning.

“Makino is his real mom, just like Garp is your real grandfather,” she says, her face as stern as her voice. Ace ducks his head, peering down at the tear in the hem of his shorts.

He works his finger into it, tugs at it. “I just meant—”

“I know what you meant, Ace.” Her hand is around his wrist, tugging his fingers gently away from the tear. “Luffy has been Makino’s since Garp brought him here. I think he meant to leave him with Dadan, but he stopped by the bar first and that was that.” She pats his knee then leans back again, bracing her hands against the ground. “It’s just as well—Luffy needs someone like Makino more than Dadan right now.”

“No kidding,” Ace mutters under his breath. Mom must have heard him, though, because her smile widens.

“Dadan knows how to take care of children. She took care of you for me for almost a year after you were born.”

Ace’s mouth is open, he can feel it. He closes it, then he opens it again, “No. She didn’t. You’re—you’re messing with me.” But it sounds like a question because that’s not the kind of thing either of them would joke about, and his mouth feels like it’s never going to close all the way again.

Mom is giggling. “Oh my,” she says between spurts of laughter, “I think the only time you ever look like Roger is when you’re surprised. You’re all me except for that.”

He snaps his mouth shut, scowls and says, “Good,” but she just keeps giggling.

“Mom,” he says, letting the m drag out, and she says, “I know, I know—I’ll be good,” but even then it doesn’t seem like she can stop.

That’s okay, though, because Ace feels like something in his brain just broke. That old mountain hag took care of him? For a _year_? It doesn’t make any sense. Mom wouldn’t ever leave him alone unless she had to, so…

His head jerks up. Unless she _had_ to. “Why?” he says, and the rest of Mom’s laughter goes away.

Mom has a lot of serious looks; this one is the most serious of all. “After you were born I was… sick. I couldn’t travel, and not only because of that.” She looks back up at the sky. “The marines were still suspicious—still looking for Roger’s family. It would have been dangerous for a single woman to leave the island with a newborn.”

“Why?” Ace says again. “Why would they care?”

She sighs and closes her eyes. Then she leans forward and looks at him like she wants to make sure he’s looking at her. “They wanted to erase all traces of him,” she says. “If they’d found us, they would have killed us.”

Ace swallows hard. He hadn’t wanted to believe it. Not anything those stupid guys said. But this is Mom telling him, and although sometimes she doesn’t tell him everything, she always tells him the truth.

He swallows again. “That’s…” again, again, until it hurts his dry throat… “wrong.” He grips his shorts with both hands, feels them crumple up under his fingers. “They’re _marines_. They’re not supposed to do stuff like that.”

“Not all marines are good, just as not all pirates are bad. Life isn’t black and white, no matter what the government wants you to think.” She reaches out, touching his cheek gently. “Think grey, Ace. Think between and under and over the lines, not inside or even outside of them.”

He’s not sure he understands; he wants to but there are too many questions jumbled up in his head, trying to get out, and there’s one thing he wants to know more than anything else. “If the marines are so bad, why is Gramps one?”

Her hand drops as she sits back. “They aren’t bad or good, really. People are never wholly good or bad, and marines, even ranking marines, are people. Your grandfather is a good man and a good marine, but he isn’t always…” She’s staring past Ace, frowning a little. “He doesn’t think in black and white, exactly, but he allows people who think that way to tell him what to do. That’s the kind of thinking his son fights against.”

Ace thinks about that. He thinks about Luffy and Makino and people who are always there even when they never are. “You mean Dragon?”

“Mm.” Her eyes are still distant but she holds her hand out to Ace and he forgets being nine and just remembers that she’s his and he’s hers and crawls over to lean against her.

Her arm comes around him, holding him against her and he presses the back of his head into her shoulder and looks up through the treetops at the sky. The moon isn’t as bright as it was earlier, but it doesn’t matter. There’s a whole sky full of stars to go with it and no clouds, and it’s really nice, just sitting here watching the stars wink on and off like lightening bugs. Listening to her heartbeat.

“Still weird,” he mumbles.

“What is?”

“Giving me to Gramps. Since he was a marine and all.”

She’s silent long enough for a cricket to start chirping and then stop. For a moth to land on Ace’s forearm and tickle its way down to his hand. He flicks his fingers and it flies off.

Mom’s shoulder and arm shift around and behind him. Ace shifts with her movement, letting her settle him, and he almost doesn’t hear her say, “Your father trusted him more than anyone but Silvers Rayleigh, his first mate.” She says it that soft.

Maybe because it she knows it doesn’t make any sense.

“That’s crazy,” Ace says, then, “Why?” again. He feels kind of like a mockingbird with one stolen song, but Mom seems to be thinking about it.

“When I met him I thought _Garp_ was crazy,” she says eventually, her voice a soft hum under his ear. “Well, he is, but he’s more than that. He came to help me the night you were born—let me crush his hands and swear and scream at him. When the midwife thought I wasn’t going to make it, he called me a quitter and shouted at me and cursed me until I decided that I was going to make it just to show him I could.”

Her laughter puffs out against Ace’s cheek, shakes her against him. “And so I could kick his rear end to the next island.”

And now Ace is kind of laughing because that’s Gramps and Mom, both of them. Only kind of, though. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles into her shoulder. “Sorry I hurt you.”

She makes some kind of noise, he’s not sure what, and then she wraps both arms around him and rocks him back and forth. “My Ace,” she says, and he feels warm pressure against the top of his head, and he’s too old for kisses, except for how he isn’t.

“I’m sorry I had to let Dadan keep you for a while,” Mom says. “You were terrified of me at first when I finally got here.”

“I don’t remember,” Ace says.

“I’m not surprised. You were barely a year old.” Her sigh tickles his ear. He squirms a little and she pokes him in the side. “Trying to get away?”

“N—uh!” And it doesn’t matter what he was going to say or do because she just flipped him onto his back and dug her fingers into his ribs. “Mo—o—om!”

Gasping, laughing, and now he’s really trying to get away, but Mom knows how to hold a guy twice _her_ size down—that’s how he learned—and he’s not going anywhere. He’s just flat on his back with her smile above him.

“You may be able to kick those guys’ butts—” leaning in, touching her nose to his and whispering, “but I can still kick yours. Resistance will only get you tickled more. Say uncle.”

Her fingers dig in again and he can’t say it fast enough, “Uncle, uncle, Mom, jeeze!” And his eyes are watery and his stomach is gonna be so sore later and finally, _finally_ Mom says, “Ha,” and her fingers are gone.

Ace lies on his back, panting, eyes closed. “No—no fair,” he gulps and starts to roll up onto his side, but he wobbles, tipping over into her lap.

And her skirt is soft against his face and his belly is aching from laughing and he’s sore from chores and from the fight. And it feels really good to rest his cheek on her leg and close his eyes, and then her hand is on his head and he lets himself stay where he is.

She strokes her hand over and through his hair and that feels good too. Feels like she’s drawing out his anger and his laughter both, putting tiredness in their place with her fingers. Like she’s pulling his thoughts out of his head down to his mouth with every stroke. And he doesn’t mean to say anything, but he’s tired and slow and the question slips out of him, tumbles out before he can stop it.

“What was he like?”

Her hand stops moving, resting on his head; she always knows what he means. “Roger?”

He swallows a yawn and nods, her dress worn soft against his cheek, so much softer than the calloused edges of her fingers against his skin, but never as soft as her lips, pressed against his temple for a moment. Then they’re gone and he feels her breath go out in a soundless sigh.

He rests against her, breathing in everything that’s Mom—yeast from today’s bread, a little sweat and a little dust and the flowers she always smells like, the ones that grow around their house and nowhere else—the ones she says she’s taken with her to every island she’s lived on.

He’s wondering if she’ll ever answer, thinking that maybe he doesn’t want her to when she says, “He was louder than anyone I’d ever met.” And laughs.

“He was… kind in a way. Generous.” She hums a strange sound, threads her fingers through his hair, rubbing the back of his neck and his scalp; Ace thinks she must be smiling in the best kind of way. “He could also be very selfish. He could be the best friend you’d ever have or your worst enemy, sometimes at the same time.”

He remembers something else she said. “Kind of like him and Gramps?”

“Exactly like that. Do you know what I was doing when I met him?”

Her hand lifts and he rolls so he’s looking up at her and guesses wildly. “Um… you were part of another pirate crew?”

She laughs out loud, and he loves the sound so much that he doesn’t even mind that she ruffles his hair. “No, silly. I was playing piano in a bar. It was a dare, you see.”

Her voice is soft now, and he feels like she’s far away from him even though she hasn’t moved. “I had to play in public—” she’s laughing again, “and the only public place with a piano was the pub. Roger and Rayleigh were there.”

She runs her fingers through his hair again and he tilts his head back a little trying to see her face. He can’t—it’s in shadow, but he can hear how much she likes the memory.

“I suppose he liked my playing,” she says. “He must have because he asked me to be his musician.”

His chest is hurting. Because he’s holding his breath, because if he makes any noise at all maybe she’ll stop talking, but he _has_ to know… “What’d you do?” And his breath gushes out and her fingers start moving again.

“I broke a bottle of gin over his head.”

He can’t help it. He just starts laughing and he can’t stop. Because he can see it, kind of. He can see her doing it, the look on her face, and he’s giggling, turning his face into her skirt and she’s laughing too, he can hear it.

“Roger just sat there grinning, dripping gin and bleeding from a cut on his forehead. Then he said, ‘You’re going to be my musician.’ And he laughed.”

Her voice is so soft and Ace isn’t laughing anymore. Her eyes are closed. She’s smiling. “Were you ever?” he asks.

She shakes her head, blinking like the sun is out instead of the stars. “No. I never did go, but he kept coming back. And he would always ask. That’s the kind of man he was.”

He stumbles over it, feeling stupid, “Did—did you—”

“Did I—?”

“Did you ever want to go? With—” he swallows. “My father.”

“Oh Ace,” she’s smiling at down him like—like he’s hard to look at. “I did,” she says. “I thought about it… many times.”

He pushes himself up, bracing his hand on the ground and his hip against her leg. “Then—”

“Why didn’t I?” She looks past him at the pond and the fireflies in the grass, her smile going slowly away like the moon is starting to go. “Roger was important to me,” she says. “But the work I was doing then was just as important. Almost—” her hand tightens a little, “Almost as important as you.”

It doesn’t take him long to figure out what to say. “If it’s important, we should go,” he says. “To Dragon.”

Her arms come round him then, pulling him in, tightening until his chest feels like it’s going to explode.

“Oof, Mom,” he protests, and she laughs and her arms loosen; he feels her rest her cheek against the top of his head.

“Not yet,” she says, and it sounds weird—almost like an echo. “When you’re a little older, we’ll go.”

“You’d still be there if I wasn’t here,” he says into her shoulder. “If I hadn’t been born you could’ve stayed.”

Her hand curls around his chin, tipping his head up so she can press their foreheads together, and her breath is warm on his cheek when she speaks. “I wanted you more than I’ve ever wanted anything in my life. That was my choice, Ace, and I made it gladly. _You_ are my choice. I will always choose you.”

He nods, rubbing their foreheads together, and this time the yawn gets away from him before he can suck it down. Mom leans back far enough to kiss his forehead then lets him go. “Past time for you to be in bed. You’ve got a long day tomorrow,” she reminds him, and he groans.

“Do I have to?”

“Yes, you have to,” she says, and nudges him. “Up you go, kiddo.”

They haul each other to their feet then Ace remembers the flashlight and scrabbles around until he finds it. He turns it on and Mom finishes tying on her sandals and they walk back through the trees they ran through, quiet and careful.

Miss Pepper may be snoring but she has really good ears. They’re back on the road before Ace feels safe enough to say anything. Even then he probably shouldn’t because it’s a stupid question, but he—he wants to _know_.

Wants to be able to look at those guys who say stupid crap about his dad and think about how they don’t know anything. Because… because…

“Did you l-love him?” he blurts.

Mom doesn’t even hesitate. “He was my best friend. I miss him every day.”

He nods at his feet. Mom is _his_ best friend. He’s pretty sure he knows how he’d feel if she was gone and never coming back.

Mom’s fingers brush against the back of his neck like they did earlier, only better. Lighter. “He would be so proud of you,” she says softly and something about the way she says it makes him feel all shivery. A weird warmth blooms in his belly. “I’m so proud of you. I had Roger and now I have you. That’s more than enough for any woman.”

“Not just me. Makino and Gramps, too,” Ace adds, and she nods.

“And Dadan,” she says. Ace snorts and she laughs. “Speaking of Dadan,” she says, “Magra brought along a sack of new books last week. There’s a mathematics text I think we’ll start on tomorrow.”

“But I’m going to be at Makino’s, remember?” he protests.

She gives him a look. It’s not _the_ look but it is _a_ look, which is almost as bad. “Nice try, kid,” she says. “After dinner.”

“Damn.” He says it really low, way under his breath, but he still darts a glance at her face to see if she heard—he thinks he sees her mouth twitch.

She doesn’t say anything, though. That’s the cool thing about Mom—well, one of them. She never expects stuff from him that she doesn’t expect from herself, and she owes him a swear from earlier.

They’re even.


End file.
